


Gods Like Us

by NinjaFairy



Category: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Complicated Relationships, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Horror, Jealousy, Laboratories, Mental Health Issues, Nature Versus Nurture, Obsession, Possessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pseudo-Incest, Science Fiction, Sexual Tension, Sibling Rivalry, Unethical Experimentation, Unhealthy Relationships, Unhealthy sibling relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2020-05-13 02:41:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19242172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinjaFairy/pseuds/NinjaFairy
Summary: After Aerith's parents are murdered under Hojo's command, he takes the infant back to Shin-Ra with him. Shortly after he discovers that her blood reacts differently to Jenova's cells, the experiments begin. Aerith and Sephiroth are raised and experimented on together in Shin-Ra laboratories under the lie that they share the same mother.All hell breaks loose once they discover the truth of their origins.





	1. Prologue: I.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Ahhh, my original OTP. I've been a literal ninja, hiding in the shadows and enjoying this pairing since 2000. I've wanted to write a story for AeriSeph for nearly two decades now, and with the remake coming out soon, I'm finally doing it. I'm going to be straightforward - this story won't be for everyone. I write fucked up shit. I'm a very slow writer. I'll be listening to Billie Eilish on repeat while working on this. I'm writing this for my own enjoyment and to cross something off my fanfic bucket list. XD I'll gladly welcome anyone who wants to come along for this ride with me! If you have any questions, let me know.
> 
> One question I know I'll get is what their age difference is. I know it's not explicitly stated anywhere, but as far as I know, Sephiroth is about 6 years older than Aerith. For the purpose of this story, Sephiroth is going to be around 3 years older than her.
> 
> Another comment I know I will get will be about Aerith's characterization. From infancy, she will be raised by Hojo and other scientists in a lab. She will go through inhumane testing and experimentation. She won't be the same Aerith that we know from the video games, but she won't be a completely different person, either.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Please note: I do not give trigger warnings. The tags are there more for incentive, not to scare people away. There will be content in this story that may make you uncomfortable. The only thing I will never write is pedophilia, but everything else is fair game. You've been warned.

 

**Prologue: I.**

* * *

 

_What does it mean to be human?_

_Is it defined by the heart that beats within your chest? Is it defined by your emotions? Your empathy? Your relationships? By the choices you consciously make?_

_If you said 'yes' to any of those, you would be wrong._

_I thought I had it figured out, too. I thought I understood them. But, like you, I was wrong._

_Don't worry, though; I'll show you._

_All you have to do is pay attention._

 

* * *

This story begins with a sacrifice.

"You  _idiot_! You weren't supposed to shoot  _her_! Do you not understand simple instructions!? Leave the woman and child  _unharmed_! Do you have  _any_  idea what you've done? The damage you've caused!?" Professor Hojo seethed, his face red and his spittle flying.

The newest soldier in the unit fumbled with his gun while being reprimanded by the furious professor. This was his first real mission since graduating from the academy and he  _royally_  fucked it up. He might as well kiss his god damned career goodbye before it even had a chance to start. He hadn't meant to shoot the woman, but she dove in front of her husband at the last second and –

 _Gods and Gaia_.

This wasn't supposed to happen. She wasn't supposed to jump in front of him.  _None_  of this of this was supposed to  _fucking_  happen. He stared at the woman who was bleeding out on the floor next to her husband, her green eyes already lifeless and dull.

Just then, a baby screamed.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried blocking out the noise – tried not thinking about the fact that he just killed an innocent person; tried not thinking about the fact that he'd just created an orphan.

He thought of his infant son, who was safe back home in Sector Five. It was probably early morning there now. He wondered if his wife was up, preparing a bottle. He wondered if she was changing his diaper or rocking him back to sleep or consoling him as he cried or –

Unable to swallow his saliva, he instead swallowed his guilt. The young man shouldered his gun and saluted like he'd been trained to do; although, it didn't feel quite the same anymore. "My apologies, sir. It'll never happen again."

The tall, dark-haired, lanky man was a ball of barely contained rage as he stood there and shook…until he finally exploded. Grabbing the edge of the table, he flipped it over on its side. Dishes filled with half-eaten food crashed to the floor. Hojo turned on the soldier and shouted, "Of course, it'll never happen again! She was  _one of a kind, you imbecile_!"

The behavior he'd just witnessed went against  _every_  story he'd ever heard about the cool, calm, and clinical professor. The soldier didn't know what to say, but he knew it was probably best if he said nothing at all.

"But," Hojo began, quickly composing himself as he slowly turned toward the bassinet, a greedy gleam in his eyes. "Perhaps, I have an alternative."

Hojo approached the bassinet, and, with gentle gracelessness, he scooped up the crying child. The scientist didn't look like a natural, by any means. It looked wrong. Alien.

"Now, what name did they give you again?" the professor muttered to himself, glancing at the inscriptions sewn into her bedding. "Ah, yes.  _Aerith_. Well, we can't just leave you here, now  _can_ we? I think you'll be coming back to Shinra – with me."

Feeling sick to his stomach, the soldier remembered what kind of  _other_ stories he'd heard about Professor Hojo and the things he did in that lab of his. He felt thankful for the stuffy, scratchy standard issue Soldier helmets – they hid his horrified features.

A girl. She was only a baby girl. A month old, at most. Younger than his son. Bile rose in his throat.

_Oh, great gods. What have I done?_

Not giving him a chance to think about his actions, Hojo started giving out orders.

"Gather Gast's files and recordings – everything that is labeled with  _Jenova_ ,  _Cetra_ , or  _Confidential_ ," Hojo commanded while bundling the crying infant against the frigid temperatures outside. He continued formally, "And I want the cadaver of the female brought to the lab."

"The woman, sir? But she's  _dead_ ," one of the other officers asked.

Going dangerously still, Hojo replied sneeringly, "Asking questions is above your pay grade, soldier. Do as you're told."

Everything after that happened so fast.

One moment, they'd been in a log cabin on the outskirts of a village in the north. The next, they were flying through a snowstorm in a Shin-Ra helicopter with a screaming infant and the body of her dead mother in a bag under their seats. Nobody batted an eye.

Why was everyone acting like this was normal? This wasn't normal.

They killed two people. They were kidnapping a child. They'd stolen things. And for what reasons? Shin-Ra was only an electric company, right?

_…right?_

Hours later, the pilot of the helicopter yelled over the thrumming of the propellers. "Professor Hojo, we'll be landing in five minutes!"

Hojo lifted two fingers lazily to show that he'd heard, but didn't lift his eyes from the data and charts on his datapad.

Looking at the sleeping child strapped against the seat right above her dead mother did something to him. His buddies said getting married and having a kid had made him soft, but how could  _anyone_  see this and just…sit by and do  _nothing_?

While thinking of his son, he made a reckless decision.

Within a blink of an eye, the soldier unbuckled himself from his seat and ripped a parachute pack from the wall. Within another blink, he had it attached and the baby in a football hold in one arm.

A scream tore through his throat at the sudden pain in his legs and he dropped to his knees. He'd run out of blinks.

His helmet was ripped from his head and the still-sleeping infant was ripped from his arms. Hojo looked down at him in cold curiosity. "Who do you work for?"

"Shin-Ra," he managed to squeeze out through clenched teeth. The pain…his leg. Was it broken?

Hojo's eyes narrowed, deep in thought. "You aren't a spy  _or_  a rebel, are you? You…" his face twisted into a half smile, half sneer as realization dawned on him, "you did this of your own volition."

The soldier remained stoically silent, glaring the older man down. Gods, his wife was going to kill him for losing this job, but he had to say it. "It's not right, what you're doing."

Hojo hummed.

"You think that just because you're in Soldier, that makes you a hero," the professor stated with a cold smile. "We have no room for heroes here."

Lifting two fingers again, Hojo gave the command.

Eyes widening with dread, the hero soldier sucked in a breath when the guy he'd cracked jokes with earlier that day cocked back his rifle.

* * *

  _Were you paying attention? Did you see it, just now?_

_It's the mistakes that you make._

_That's what makes you human._

_What a beautiful, tragic thing._


	2. Prologue: II.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note: I needed to add a few more paragraphs at the end of this chapter and fix some minor things. It's not a brand new chapter - sorry! It had to be done before I posted more of the story.

 

* * *

 

There was something to be said about being paid salary.

Working late into the night wasn't anything unusual for Professor Hojo; even when just getting back from a physically and mentally exhausting business trip. It wasn't because it was expected of him – to have a corporation squeeze every last gil out of the working man, well after his forty hours were put in.

No. That's not why he did it.

In all honesty, President Shinra couldn't afford his genius; Hojo knew that, and so did Shinra. The only reason Hojo renewed his tenure year after year wasn't because of the pay, but because of the freedom.

Scientific freedom was a precious currency, one of which he spent wisely – and spent often.

Also, he knew that nothing was ever achieved by remaining idle.

And this was Professor Hojo's mantra; this was what kept him working late into the night, yet again.

Using careful precision, he squeezed a single drop of blood onto a microscope slide, rolled his desk chair closer, and turned the lens dial.

Already having his pen ready to fill out the paperwork, Hojo lifted his glasses on top of his head to massage the bridge of his nose and let out a tired sigh. This one would be like all the others, he knew that. It was routine lab work for his project, though. Process of elimination. Protocol. Necessary.

This was another mantra. Anything to squash the hopes that this one might be different. Anything to squash the anxiety of yet another disappointment.

He played those mantras on repeat as he peered into the eyepiece, but he frowned after only a few moments and leaned back, blinking in confusion.

"The focus must be imprecise," he muttered to himself. Leaning forward again, he peered into the lens and began fiddling with the dials. After some time, he leaned back in his chair and stared at the microscope.

"Impossible," he whispered. Unable to process what he'd just seen, his gaze shifted to the vial of blood sitting innocently in its stand on his desk.

"Her blood. Her blood reacts…differently? How could this – Ifalna's never – the only specimen who –" Frowning, Hojo rushed to a file cabinet while fumbling with his key ring. Hurriedly, he unlocked a drawer labeled 'I.' and began frantically searching through the manila folders. Pulling out the thickest one, he opened it and started flipping through the pages as he slowly walked back to his desk.

"Similar results, but not exact," he mumbled, then looked in the lens yet again and a slow smile spread across his face.

Finally. After three years of hard work – another breakthrough.

Paperwork forgotten, Professor Hojo worked on relentlessly, until the sun rose in the smog-polluted sky.

And, in the dimmed lighting of the lab, sitting next to a stale cup of coffee on Hojo's desk, sat a brand-new manila folder labeled 'II.'.

 

* * *

 

I was ten years old when you told me that I'd killed our mother.

Looking back on it now, I suppose I should've been more upset about what you were telling me, but I wasn't. I felt guilty, of course. As guilty as an emotionally stunted ten-year-old child could be, but I never felt sadness. At the time, I'd only felt aggravation, but I couldn't figure out why.

I've learned through others' experiences and emotions, that when a person feels a loss, they feel it deeply. It shakes their world and resonates until it shatters their soul. They lose their will. Their ability to function.

After you'd told me, I brushed my teeth. I bathed. I combed my hair. I took my meals. I did my training, my lessons. Took my vitamins and had my routine medications administered before curfew. I went through the motions of my day, because it's all I'd ever known. All you'd ever known.

I never questioned the way things were. Never deviated. Not once. And neither did you.

Not until the next day.

Not until after the orderlies left with their emptied syringes and the sleeves of our medical gowns were rolled back down. Not until we laid prone and defenseless and alone in the room, Hojo observing us on the other side of the glass. Not until the fever hit you. Not until my tremors started. Not until you vomited. Not until I pissed myself.

"How did I do it?" I asked weakly after another episode, not caring that they were listening.

I didn't need to elaborate. You knew exactly what I was talking about. You always did. You were so good at understanding me, even if you didn't want to admit it. Even now, after everything we've been through, I know you never would.

But enough about that; let's continue.

Spitting onto the sheets on your gurney, you wiped the back of your hand against your mouth, looking at me with exhaustion and resentment in your eyes. Resentment against them. Against him. Me. The world.

"By being born."

Head lolling to the side, I stared at you. You looked so tired and I felt so tired. I couldn't speak. I wanted to speak to you so badly, but it was  _so hard_ to concentrate over the steady beep… beep… beep… beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep **beepbeepbeep**.

Hojo burst into the room, hovering over me, yelling orders. It was all gloved hands and masked faces and controlled chaos.

Right here. This was the moment.

The last thing I saw before I died was the fear in your eyes. For me.

_Me._

The first thing I saw when I came back were the bodies. Bloodied. Ruined. Nearly human, but not human enough, with their wide eyes and masks still attached.

Then I saw Professor Hojo, panting hard and trembling against the wall with a slow smile spreading across his face, his always pristine lab coat splattered with blood. He dropped an empty syringe needle to the tile floor and stared at you with that sick sort of eagerness of his. Eagerness, but also fear.

Following his line of sight, I found you – strong; brilliant; human – slumped against your overturned gurney, blood drip, drip, dripping from your fingertips.

You thought they killed me, so you deviated.

Did you feel my death that deeply, Sephiroth? You did, I think, but I don’t know how much. With how strong your reaction had been, I thought that – _maybe_.

But after you woke up two days later, you still brushed your teeth, bathed, combed your hair, trained. You went through your motions. It was as if it had never happened. And with how we’ve never talked about it, I suppose it never did.

You never deviated again. Not once. No matter how many times I tried to make you. Something in you changed after that day. I don’t know what it was, but I could see it – in the looks that you’d give me – that you wanted to say something – _do_ something, but you always pulled back.

_Restraint_ , you said. You also told me it was something that I lacked – why I always got myself into trouble.

In retrospect, you’re probably right. I always got myself into trouble, but I couldn’t help it. I don’t know why.

Maybe I just wanted control. Maybe I just wanted to feel something else other than _this_. Maybe I just wanted to see that fear in your eyes one more time.


End file.
